Hurst thought he ought to be jealous of Dethin, but somehow he wasn’t. He would have shared Mia with Jonnor, not liking it but accepting it as the price to be paid for her. But this didn’t feel that way, like a compromise, not anymore. Mia was still his, even when she was sprawled in sleep across Dethin, her arm resting on his chest, one leg still entangled with his. He trusted him, that was what it was. Trusted both of them. And the best of it was that he no longer had to beg, not from Jonnor, not from anyone. Mia herself decided what she wanted, and what she wanted, it seemed, was both of them. It was a good arrangement.
Hurst came often to see his co-husband, Bernast, but his condition was almost unchanged. His physical injuries – great gashes across his back where he had been flogged, numerous bruises and lines of strange small burns up both arms – had almost healed now, but his mind had not recovered. The wild mutterings, the semi-conscious ramblings, the unpredictable jerks and twitches had all subsided into a deeper, calmer state of sleep. His Companions dressed him each day, and moved him into different positions periodically, but still he lay unmoving, eyes closed, breathing peacefully.
Often when Hurst arrived, one of the Companions would be reading to Bernast. They talked constantly to him, or to each other, including him in the conversation, or else read strips from a book, although Bernast had never been a great reader. Hurst supposed it made the Companions feel better, for it seemed to make no difference to Bernast himself. Sometimes it was a message from Henissa, once communications to the tower were established, full of emotional wishes for Bernast’s recovery, and news about her own good health and the approaching birth of their child. Her pregnancy had prevented her travelling to the Ring for the winter quiet, which was probably just as well. She would have been distraught when Bernast was incarcerated, but in fact she knew nothing of it until he was safe again.
But then, which of them was truly safe now? For all Tanist was head of this Council of his, and no blood had yet been spilled, there was no security for any of them until the Great Temple was taken, and the Trannatta all sent away. Far away, he hoped.
And if they couldn’t take the Great Temple? If they had to fight, Skirmisher against Skirmisher, and with the Silent Guards an unknown third participant, how would that end? Only in grief and pain, and perhaps the end of all their hopes.
No point worrying about it. He would fight for the right to choose his own life, the right not to live in fear and he would fight for those he loved. Beyond that, it was for the Gods to decide.
No, not the Gods. This battle would be settled by Karningers.
~~~
Late one afternoon, when he was beginning to think about meat and a glass or two of wine, Hurst went back to the apartment to find Mia. She was in bed, half dozing, while Dethin read quietly in the window seat.
“Come on, sleepy,” Hurst said, bending down to kiss her. “It’s time to eat.”
“Not yet,” she said. “It’s still daylight. I have time for a bath.”
“Oh – I wish I’d thought of that.”
“Plenty of room for both of us. For all three of us, if it comes to that.”
Hurst was taken aback for a moment, but then he caught Dethin trying not to grin. And as it turned out, there was indeed plenty of room. It felt very intimate bathing together, even though they shared a bed and had all seen each other naked before. Hurst couldn’t help watching as Mia soaped herself all over.
“Let me know if you want a hand with that,” he murmured.
“Not a chance,” she said. “We’ll never get down for meat if you start.”
But she giggled, and tossed the soap at him, and instantly they were splashing about like children. But Dethin sitting opposite them was frozen, staring at Hurst as if transfixed. It made Hurst feel a bit uncomfortable, such unblinking scrutiny.
“What is it?”
“Your leg.”
“Oh. Well, you’ve seen it before, surely? It’s not a thing of great beauty.” He lifted his twisted leg clear of the water, shifting it left and right, and looked questioningly at Dethin.
“It looks – straighter. Don’t you think?” Dethin said. “And you’re not limping as much lately.”
“Well, I haven’t done much to tire it recently.” He looked at its irregularities more carefully, then shrugged. “I don’t see any difference myself. I know the tower fixes a lot of things, but that – well, I don’t expect miracles.”
It was when they were dressing afterwards, and Dethin was combing out Mia’s wet hair, that she turned to Hurst and said casually, “Have you thought much about what Tanist said? What we’ll do when all this is settled?”
He hadn’t. He wasn’t one for planning and forethought at the best of times, but it didn’t seem like a question that merited much attention. He shrugged. “I suppose we’ll go back to the Karning, won’t we? To see the children, pick up the threads.”
She was silent. Was that the wrong answer? Or was there was some underlying meaning that he wasn’t getting?
“Isn’t that what we want?”
She was very still, watching him, perhaps measuring his answer against some invisible standard. Dethin had paused, comb in mid-air, but then he returned to his task, his face blank.
Mia took a breath, exhaled. “When you say ‘we’… what does that mean?”
“What? We – I mean us, of course. The three of us.” The hint of a smile, from both of them. “That hardly needs to be said, surely.”
“I think it does need to be said.”
“Why, because of Tanist? Gods, don’t take any notice of him! It’s up to us what we decide to do, isn’t it? It’s nothing to do with anyone else.”
“Of course!” she said, suddenly fierce. “But we need to say it. To each other.”
“Oh. You mean, like an oath? Swearing to be true to each other for evermore – that sort of thing?”
“No oaths,” Dethin said quietly. “We none of us know what might happen in the future, how circumstances may change. Forever is too big a commitment, especially now that everything is fluid.”
“So – what then?” Hurst said, bewildered.
Mia glanced up at him, her face serious. “We have to say what we mean, that’s all. Clearly and unambiguously. We drifted into this situation rather, because it was expedient, but the time is coming when we have to decide what our future will be. Tanist’s right about that, at least. I know exactly what I want, and I’m pretty sure of Dethin too, but I don’t know about you, Hurst. What future do you want?”
“I want us to stay together,” he said at once. “All of us.”
“No reservations?” she asked.
“No. Not anymore. At first – well, of course I was a bit wary of him. He’s a lot better looking than me, after all.” Dethin’s mouth twitched at that. “I was afraid he’d run off with you. But not now. I’m fine with things this way.”
She nodded and smiled. “Good. That’s all right then. And now, if you’ve finished titivating me, Warlord, I’d like something to eat.”
But Hurst hesitated. “Dethin? Are you happy with this?”
Dethin nodded and set the comb down on a table. Hurst couldn’t see his face, and for an instant was left wondering. But when he turned back, he was smiling, just a little. “If Mia is happy, I’m happy,” he said gravely.
“Exactly!” said Hurst, grinning at him.
“So that’s settled,” she said.
~~~
The march to the Great Temple would take place a few days after brightmoon. Hurst would have preferred an earlier date, to take the maximum advantage of the evening light, but Tanist could not make the arrangements with all his supporting forces any earlier. They were camped in the barrens, for there were no open spaces in the Ring large enough to accommodate so many armed men. Tanist would try to persuade the Skirmishers to join the rebellion, and he spoke optimistically of Dethin charming the Silent Guards into laying down their weapons, but if everything failed he was still planning for battle.
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“There will be light enough,” Gantor said to Hurst’s worries. “We will be there before noon, and may the Gods help us all if we’re still fighting at moonset.”
All the Skirmishers were to go, while the less well trained warriors from beyond the border (“the Warlord’s men” as Tanist called them) would stay behind to guard the tower. Mia was to stay too, for after her collapse at the assembly, no one wished to expose her to an even larger gathering. But Hurst and Dethin were both to go, and Hurst fretted about her rather.
“You still have the tunnel,” he reminded her. “If this goes badly, then you and Tenya can escape that way. Keep a pack with food ready at all times, and if you feel anxious, just go.”
“And what about everyone else?” she said gently. “The Nine, the kitchen women, the healers? What about Bernast? I can’t just run away and leave them.”
“The tower is safe enough,” Dethin said. “Keep plenty of food in the living quarters, and stay up there. The ramp is the only way up, and it’s very defensible. Ainsley will be in charge, and that’s the advice I’ve given him. My two Captains, Killin and Cristamond, will be here too, and if it were me, I’d rather trust myself to their swords than the tunnel. You never know who – or what – you might meet down there.”
It was no comfort to Hurst to imagine Mia cooped up in the tower, perhaps besieged by troops loyal to the Slaves. He hated to leave her, but Klemmast had already left to rejoin his own Skirmishers, so Hurst was back in his role as Tanist’s second in command. He wondered if his own Hundreds might be waiting out there in the barrens with all the others. He had sent no instructions to them, nor had Bernast, but still they might choose to come.
There was no hope of approaching the Great Temple in secrecy. Several thousand men in battle gear could not sneak about unnoticed, and even the small contingent from the tower would have to emerge from the tunnel outside the temple walls and march through the streets. Those from the barrens would have to break camp, make their way to one of the sky ship tunnels and walk right through the mountains as well. They would be lucky not to find their route held against them. No, they could not catch anyone unawares. All they could hope for was superiority of numbers over the Silent Guards and the Skirmishers loyal to them. Or for Dethin to pull off his little act as the One from the prophecy.
They left shortly before dawn, and made their way in silence out of the entrance hall, down the stairs and across the Hall of Magic. Tanist and his Companions led the way, winding back and forth, with the rest following in a long line until the whole floor was a writhing snake of Skirmishers. Hurst laughed inwardly at the incongruity of it. There they were, marching off to battle – to death, perhaps! – but first they had to follow the black pathway precisely, wherever it led. He recalled the barbarians on their way to battle, spilling outwards like a flood across the plains, singing and beating drums and clashing spear to shield – that was the proper way to approach a battle, he thought, not this silent crawling worm.
Down the curving stair, through the gate and into the tunnel – they were going to the scholars’ hall again, the one place they could be sure to meet no opposition on the way. And then through the basement like thieves, before they could climb again to street level and take up the proper formation. Even then, tramping fully armed through their own capital felt wrong, somehow. At least it would be over soon, he thought. One way or another, today would be the end of the rebellion – they would be the undisputed new masters or destroyed utterly.
As soon as they emerged into the open, they heard the clash of steel and shouts away in the distance. Some at least of their forces had encountered trouble. Walst began to draw his sword, but Hurst put out a restraining hand. There was muttering behind them, and several people turned towards the sounds, ready to rush to help.
“No distractions!” Tanist shouted. “We go on!”
The sounds of fighting died away as they walked on, but there was no way to judge the outcome. Before long they had more encouraging news, for they came up behind one of their own Hundreds successfully arrived from the barrens, flying the red flag of the rebellion. Then, at a junction, another could be seen approaching, and yet another behind them. Hurst began to feel more optimistic. A final corner brought them to the outer wall of the Great Temple and they marched steadily through the archway and into the court. Behind them, and through other archways, lines of men poured in like floodwater.
The Great Temple itself dominated the far end of the court. It was far older than the Gods it celebrated, dating back thousands of years. When the Slaves had first arrived, it stood empty and neglected, its purpose forgotten, but it was large and imposing and round, so they had commandeered it, modifying its twelve great windows to show the Nine individually and collectively. Nine smaller temples around the perimeter of the court were each devoted to one of the Nine. In the centre of the court was a vast oval space paved with white stone slabs. Hurst was not at all devout, but even he felt uncomfortable at the thought of wielding a sword in such a place, pools of blood staining the purity of the ground, marking its whiteness for ever.
The Silent Guards were waiting for them. Lines of them were already arrayed across the width of the court, and more were filing out from the temple itself and from hatches in the ground. Each one was encased from head to toe in golden armour, dazzling in the sun. Their curved swords were still sheathed. That was a relief; they were still following their own rules, which forbade the drawing of a blade within the temple walls. As on the first occasion, they would wait and see what the arriving army intended to do.
“Looks like it’s just us and them,” Hurst muttered, his breath puffing in the frigid air, but Gantor shook his head.
“No, there are flags and signal poles beyond the far wall. We’ll have company.”
Indeed, before their own men had finished arranging themselves in their squares, Skirmishers were forming up to either side of the Silent Guards, sending swirls of dust to be caught by the wind. Two Hundreds, then four, and more jostling behind them. Hurst’s heart sank, for he thought the numbers against them were even greater than last time.
The two sides settled into some sort of order, a wide gap between them. Midway between them stood a low glass roof, one of several scattered about the court providing light to rooms below ground. Dotted about were marble plinths which perhaps had once supported statuary, but were empty now. Tanist, Hurst and their Companions, together with Dethin, clambered onto one of these so that they could be seen by the Silent Guards and Skirmishers. Behind them was some sort of commotion, as men still crowded round the archways trying to get into the court and found it full. Hurst looked questioningly at Tanist, but he shook his head.
“Ignore it. We follow the plan.”
Tanist stepped forward first to address the Skirmishers, much the same speech he’d given to the assembly. He spoke well, but Hurst thought it was too late for talking. All the arguments had been put forward already. Besides, what kind of Skirmisher would march to battle and then just lay down his arms, however logical the reasoning? It was no use appealing to an army already primed to fight.
Quite a sizeable army, too. It was dispiriting, the number of Karningholders arrayed against them. Hurst looked at all the flags fluttering gently in the frigid air, recognising familiar Karnings, the symbols of friends from his tournament days and heroes from battles past. One jumped out at him, turning his heart to lead.
When Tanist had finished, Hurst tapped his sleeve. “May I go and talk to Kendron?”
“Kendron?”
“Mia’s father.”
“Gods, is he here?” Tanist’s face was ashen. Turning, he gave the signal for a negotiation pole to be raised. “Go.”
Hurst dropped his helmet and climbed down from the plinth, then walked, sword arm raised, towards Kendron. About twenty paces away, he stopped, unbuckled his sword and moved forward a few paces, waiting. He had carried out this manoeuvre a hundred times in skirmishes, but never in a hostile situation
and he wasn’t at all sure it would work.
He breathed a sigh of relief when Kendron removed his helmet, unbuckled his own sword and stepped forward grim-faced to meet him. The grey hair ruffling in the breeze tore Hurst apart. Here was a man who had earned the right to hang up his sword altogether, yet he would willingly die to protect the temple from sacrilege. No, not the temple, he reminded himself; none of them wished to harm the temple, they only wanted the cowards hiding beneath its skirts. And Kendron had as much reason as anyone to hate the Trannatta; how many Karningers had he killed, believing them to be barbarians?
Yet what would Mia say when she knew her father was against them? It would grieve her unbearably.
Despite the grey hair, Kendron’s eyes showed a sharp intelligence, and no sign of the rheumy gaze of age. Now, they bore implacably into Hurst. He shuffled uncomfortably.
“Most High Kendron.” He bowed formally, leathers creaking.
Kendron did not return the bow. “What do you want, Hurst?”
Not a promising start. He hadn’t thought what to say, so for a moment he chewed his lip. Then it all came out in a rush. “What are you doing here? I thought you were safe at home.”
“So I was, but I heard that traitors were plotting against the rule of law.”
“You came all the way from the northern border to fight your own kin? Haven’t we done enough of that?”
“I was closer than that. After you disappeared, and then that father of yours—” A curt nod in Tanist’s direction. “Some of us felt that a training exercise near to the Ring might be in order. With battle swords. You were always ambitious, Hurst. Now you’re trying to overturn all the good the Word of the Gods has brought us.”
Hurst felt sick. “But it was all a lie! Don’t you care?”
Kendron shook his head sadly. “I’ve heard the excuse for your treachery. I’ve heard how you’ve joined the barbarians. But I’ve fought the Vahsi, Hurst. I’ve fought them and defeated them, time after time. They’re savages, every one of them. As you are. I will not allow you to destroy everything I’ve spent my whole life protecting. I know my duty, unlike you. Go back to your barbarians, and leave the civilised people in peace. I despise you, Hurst. I trusted you with my daughter, and you betrayed me. May you both rot in the Ninth Vortex.”
The Plains of Kallanash Page 64
